


Nia:wen

by sp00kworm



Category: AC, AC3 - Fandom, Assassin's Creed, Assassin's Creed 3 - Fandom
Genre: Anger, Aquila - Freeform, Arguing, Captain Connor, Character Study, Connor kills you anyway, Fluff, Gen, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Hunting, Nia:wen, Sadness, Sailing, Sea Battles, Smiling Connor, Typical Connor and Achilles arguments, Wolves, awkward moments, thank you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4706600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp00kworm/pseuds/sp00kworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor often gets into fights, both verbal and physical, and with Achilles and his enemies. He spends time away and doesn't tell anyone, and gets shouted at by Achilles for it. After years on the Homestead as both a boy and man, Connor still doesn't understand the traditions of the white man, but that doesn't mean he hasn't forged relations to last a life time, with both man and animal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nia:wen

Connor had been as overjoyed as most when Prudence and Warren's child was brought into this world by Doctor White. The child was healthy and the tender loving looks the parents had given the infant were still etched in his memory as happy moments. They'd named him Hunter. Over the years he'd performed his duties but he also watched the homestead grow around him. Norris and Myraim were married. He himself 'handed' away Myriam, due to her lack of father, despite not being very well educated in the rituals of marriages outside his own people's. Despite everyone settling down and beginning their new lives, Connor himself found he had no desire to follow in their footsteps. Training the new assassins from the various cities had become a task that absorbed most of his time, and the little free time he had, he spent working out the finances of the Homestead and hunting in the woods and on the Frontier. Having his own family was the furthest thing from his mind, and he put his thoughts aside as he clambered out of bed for another day of work.

The estate had become a rowdy place, and Connor sat the the table painfully aware of the silence that had become such a rare occurrence. All too often he would have already begun arguing with the 'old man' and would have spouted various challenges in his hot tempered rage. It took only a few words from the man's mouth about duties to set Connor off, but he found no sight of the retired assassin anywhere. He slumped slightly in the chair trying to rub the sleep from his eyes, and to try and erase the tiredness and slight ache he still felt throughout his body. His stomach grumbled unhappily as it tried to make him aware of its intense need for food. He found himself lucky when he wandered into the kitchen and found a basket of fruit perched near the end of the table. A small note had been attached with his name carefully printed on the folded piece of paper. He wandered over his eyebrows raised and pulled the note from under the basket. The fruit was from Prudence and Warren, it seemed they had a little too much from their harvest, and thought the food would better serve he and Achilles. He had an easy breakfast at least. Connor grasped the handle and moved over to the chopping board and knife block. With a small yawn he drew out a small knife and plucked an apple out of the basket, before skilfully chopping it into quarters and slicing out the core. 

He'd sliced about three more of the apples and left the basket on the dinning room table before plopping himself in the arm chair by the fire, a bowl full of sticky apple slices in his hand. Almost greedily he began munching on a piece of the fruit, smiling slightly as the skin made an audible crunch. Soon enough his bowl was empty of delicious apple chunks, and with a small sigh he set the bowl aside in the kitchen and made his way upstairs to change into his robes. There was no sign of the old man upstairs, but he rarely ventured up the wooden staircase, for fear of falling but also, not being able to physically get up them. After quickly changing and running a brush through his dark hair, before swiftly tying it back again, Connor made his way back downstairs and peered into the make shift bedroom Achilles had created. The board game, Draughts, which he loved, was set up as usual and the bed was pristinely made. It didn't even look like the old assassin had even slept in the bed. Nothing was out of place and Connor cursed the old man in his head. He'd gone somewhere and made sure Connor couldn't follow him. Shaking his head, he made sure to leave a brief note for when Achilles came home, and pulled the lever to the secret basement. 

The old wooden planks creaked beneath his weight, and Connor was sure he would fall through them one day. The room was dark and he lit the candles before passing the target list. A cold glance was all his father's portrait received as he retrieved his bow, quiver, arrows, tomahawk, pistols and sword. The pouches of bombs, poison darts and ammunition were already fastened to his belt. After quickly checking everything was in order, he peered up at his father and sneered before making his way back up the rickety stairs and out of the house. The cold autumn air had begun to set in and it nipped at his nose and finger tips. He needed to remind himself to tie a scarf around his neck the next time he planned on going out.

It was always a fairly short journey through the woods to reach the harbour. As he approached he made sure to veer away from Peg Leg, who sat with his arms crossed, eyeing him with a grumpy look. Connor had yet to retrieve any more of the old sailor's trinkets, and the lack of sparkly goods meant he was on the receiving end of an upset loony. Peg Leg merely gave him a cold glance as he passed and Connor let a small sigh pass his lips and he made it to the dock.  
“'Ave ye got me anymore trinkets? You know its been weeks and I'm considering holding onto these things!” Connor felt his back stiffen as the man shouted at him and he turned with a small frown.  
“I promised you those treasures, as and when I find them. I see no reason for you to be upset. I have yet to find any more trinkets for you.” The man sneered and slumped back against the crates, crossing his arms in a stubborn manner. He graced Connor with no more words but a flick of his hand. 

Turning away, Connor shook his head, the small braid in his hair flicking lightly against his cheek, as he tried to shake away the annoyance on his face. Quickly, he made his way up to Robert Faulkner. The first mate of the Aquila turned to him with a smile on his grey bearded face.  
“Connor!” The elder man gave his back a slap. “Its good to see you! We've not heard anything from you since you went running off to kill that bloke...Pitcairn was it?” Connor, slightly uncomfortable with the touch, grasped his hands together in front of him and nodded.  
“Yes. He will no longer be troubling the people anymore. It has not been that long has it?” Faulkner snorted and laughed.  
“Sometimes I think you live in a world of your own lad. Its been a good month at least!” Connor shrugged.  
“Sorry. I loose track of time when on missions. How fairs the boat- I mean, the ship.” The older man looked about ready to hit him upside the head as soon as 'boat' slipped through his lips. He still struggled to understand why a boat, or ship, would be referred to as a 'she', but many customs were still yet unknown to him. Faulkner turned and spread his arms out in a grand gesture towards the Aquila.  
“Well lad, we've finally finished those reinforcements of the hull, and have placed the new cannons, not to mention loaded the new rounds onto the lower decks. She is coming along finely!” He turned to Connor with a toothy smile, “How about you get up there and give 'er a whirl. She's been sat here far to long waiting for ya!” Connor peered up at the ship with a smile. He enjoyed sailing a lot more than he thought he would have. He smiled at Faulkner and nodded.  
“Perhaps a short journey is in order?” The first mate clapped his hands together and grinned.  
“We're ready when you are, Captain.” Connor returned the grin with a small smile and made his way up the gang plank, nodding to the members of the crew who hurried about with cheers.

It was only going to be routine check on the trading routes they used for their naval convoys, but it quickly turned sour as a small group of bandit ships made a beeline for the Aquila, shouts travelling across the waves as they prepared their cannons. Connor shouted at the crew.  
“Full sail! Get me those grape shots!” Faulkner quickly relayed his command and the crew manned their stations by the cannons and swivels. Connor set about manoeuvring the Aquilia so they could fire volleys from a distance and quickly pulled the wheel to the left so the cannons could fire. The ships they faced had already begun sailing for the Aquilia, crew shouting by their cannons. The ships themselves were small, like small merchant ships, but with a variety of cannons aboard rather than sugar or tea cargo. Connor tugged the wheel towards the left, the polished wood slightly rough against his calloused hands as he grabbed at the handles as the wheel turned towards him. The crew of the Aquila braced themselves against the railings as the ship sharply turned about exposing the entourage of cannons on its gun decks. The small ships began firing as the Aquilia was still loading its cannons. Connor leant over the railing of the quarter deck and shouted.  
“Brace!” 

The crew gripped onto the railings, cannons and the mast and ducked as cannon balls soared over head, a few skimming the deck and the sides of the ship. Connor growled as he stood back up and stabilised the ship which was rocking from the small waves. Faulkner laughed from his belly next to him and Connor watched the ships turn to fire their side cannons at the Aquila. The crew stood ready to fire the cannons, the wicks poised over the gun powder. Connor felt a strange calmness wash over him as he watched the ships crawl closer over the waves. Everything around him moved tediously slow until the enemy drew close enough to fire at. The world then turned into a speeding blur as he pointed over to the right.  
“Fire!” Cries sounded through the air as the crew let the wicks fall into the cannons and the gun powder lit and exploded with resounding booms. Cannon balls flew through the air and barrelled into the ships. Wood splinters flew into the air from the impact and men cried out as they were injured and killed by the blasts. The small merchant ships were no match for the fire power of the Aquila and they began to submerge under the relentless motion of the sea. Connor held his expression stead fast and watched the ships burn and crackle on the waves, his emotions masked behind his steely assassin exterior. He wanted to grimace and apologise. Those men had no more right to die than he, but this new world had a single rule. It was kill, or be killed. 

They had decided to sail back after the encounter with the bandits and soon arrived back in the harbour of the homestead. A few men had to be carried off to see Doctor White with minor injuries, but for the most part, they made it home safely. Connor sighed and took a seat on the dock, removing his captain hat and shaking his hair free. Wisps curled over his forehead and he wrinkled his nose at the smell of sweat he had accumulated over the numerous days at sea. He heard Faulkner making his way over to him long before the sailor sat down by him. Faulkner chuckled and gave himself a sniff.  
“Pwah. Well that's what days at sea do to you with no bath.” He gave out a harsh laugh and Connor eyed him with a single dark eyebrow raised.  
“I thought you would be used to the smell. That is what you smelt like when I first met you.” Faulkner frowned and Connor gave him an innocent wide eyed look. It only took at look into his innocent eyes to know that he was speaking honestly. The Mohawk had always been a straight forward man, always voicing his opinion, whether it be realistic or not, or whether it would cause a war, as they had done. Faulkner huffed and ran a hand over his grey scruffy beard.  
“If I didn't know you Connor, I would have taken offence to that and given you a wallop. Considering I do know you, and consider you a friend, I wont, but neither do I really want to tussle with a man of your size and skill for killing people.” Connor shook his head, a small smile creasing his lips upwards. Faulkner laughed again and then stood up giving Connor a pat on the back. He tensed at the touch but was glad when the older man removed his hand just as quickly as it had made contact with the thick muscle of his shoulder. He still didn't understand why the white man had such an affinity for touching people they knew. Nor would he ever really understand it.

An hour or so later saw Connor heading back to the homestead for a bath and to change into his assassin robes. He closed the wooden door of the old manor house with a click and then turned around to come face to face with Achilles. Connor felt his heart leap slightly at the appearance of the old man and the retired assassin gave him a scowl as he hobbled closer.  
“You were gone a week! A week and the only thing you left was a note saying you were going hunting! Must have been one heck of a hunting trip?!” Connor winced as Achilles raised his voice. The old man then made sure to raise his cane and smack it along the backs of Connor's calves. The native gave out a grunt and hissed at the stinging pain that ran up his legs.  
“What was that for old man!?” Achilles rested his hands on the top of his cane and grumbled.  
“Next time tell me before you go gallivanting off with Faulkner! A week Connor! A whole week with no word!” Connor growled and took two strides left.  
“Sorry.” Achilles grumbled under his breath and made his way slowly across the hall and into the room to the left of the door where the accounting book rested on the table.  
“Boy'll never learn.” He carefully lowered himself into the arm chair and then turned to look at Connor. Dirt and grime had coated his skin and the smell indicated an extended period without any contact with water and soap. The dark skinned man curled his nose and moved his head towards the stairs. “You smell like a pig that's sat in its own manure for a week.” Connor gritted his teeth to stop himself making a snide remark.  
“I know that old man.” Achilles smirked victoriously.  
“Then why don't you go and do something about it then?” Connor frowned at him and clenched his jaw before flipping around and stomping up the stairs, purposefully loud to show his frustration.

After bathing and removing the layer of dried sweat, dirt and grime from his skin and the grease from his dark, black hair, Connor threw on his underwear and bottoms before making his way down the stairs bare footed and bare chested to retrieve his assassin robes and leather native thigh high boots. Achilles was still sat in the arm chair and he leaned forward as Connor descended the stairs, his braid swinging and lightly hitting his cheek. A sudden knock at the door cut them both off as they opened their mouths to start jabbing at each other again. Achilles stood to answer the door but Connor brushed him off and was already turning the door knob as the man got to his feet. He fell back into the chair with a grumble and leaned on his cane to see the face at the door. Connor opened the door and scowled at the old man before he laid his eyes on the visitor. A young woman turned to face him and flushed, a woven basket gripped between her fingers dropped to the ground. She gaped at the expanse of dark skinned chest in front of her and ran her eyes over the thick hard outlines of muscle. Connor raised his eyebrows before peering down at his bare chest and flushed as well. The woman squeaked and covered her red face with her hands and Connor stuttered apologies a quickly as he could.  
“I-I'm sorry! I was j-just- You erm c-caught me in-erm!” The woman peeked at him through her fingers and flushed again before shouting at him.  
“IT'S A BASKET FOR ACHILLES! I-I HAVE TO GO!!” She fled as quickly as she could her brown hair billowing behind her and small flowers she had braided in flying into the air as she picked up speed. 

Connor felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment and he quickly scanned the area for any of the homesteaders who may have witnessed the event, before snatching the basket and retreating behind the door. He was sure the tips of his ears were on fire as he closed the door and that his skin was awash with red. Achilles snorted from his chair and began cackling madly, slapping his knee as his laughter echoed around the room. Connor let out a long breath and then entered the room to see the retired assassin curled over clutching his stomach in fits of laughter. He scowled and slammed the woven basket onto the table beside him and sneered.  
“Do not laugh at me old man!” Achilles flapped his hand and wiped a tear from his eye as his laughter died down.  
“There is no wonder you struggle getting the girls! You flush when they come near you!” The man began cackling again and Connor snarled at him before striding out of the room and pulling the lever to the basement and pounding down the rickety old stairs. He ground his teeth to try and contain his fiery temper as he pulled his shirt, waistcoat, coat and boots on. He grabbed his weapons and fastened them to his belt and his bow and quiver of arrows to his back before he stomped back up the stairs, making a show of slamming the door behind him and shouting through it.  
“I'll be back later, old man!” Achilles' laughter chased after him as he sprinted into the woods of the homestead and began free running through the trees.

Silently, Connor crept along the branch he was perched on. He'd spotted a large deer gently grazing not too far away and was starting the process of stalking the prey. The cold that nipped at his nose was forgotten as he zoned in on the movements of the deer. He quickly scanned the area with the help of his inherited Eagle Vision. No predators. The deer flicked her ears and munched on the small bush with dulling leaves, slightly curling on the branches. Connor nimbly jumped onto the next branch across, careful to not make a noise and disturb the unaware animal. With a heave he pulled himself up on the branch, across from the last, directly above the deer and steadied his breathing. The deer rotated its ears as a small hare bounded through the grass. Connor readied himself and flexed his arms and wrists. The deer lifted her head and Connor took the opening, throwing himself off of the branch and towards the doe. He make contact with the back of the animal and he pushed his knee down on the deer's stomach. The doe gave out a long hoarse cry and thrashed its legs about wildly until Connor drew back his wrist, unsheathed the hidden blade and plunged it into the back of the deer's skull. 

The slender legs grew still and Connor removed the pressure of his knee peering at the open eyes of the animal. His own face stared back at him like he was staring into a mirror. With a small release of breath he flicked his wrist forward and drew the hidden blade from its sheath. With his head bowed he spoke.  
“Nia:wen.” 'Thank you' before plunging the knife into the gut of the animal. It didn't take Connor long to pull the deer apart. He took the pelt, legs, tail and heart from the animal and left the rest for the earth to take back and for the other animals to forage from. Standing, Connor looked at his hands which were caked in the blood of the animal and frowned. He'd need to wash the blood off before he returned to the manor. Grabbing the bag of goods he slung it over his shoulder before peering into the trees and determining his way to the river. A growl from the under growth stopped him from making a move.

Connor flexed his fingers slightly as he turned his head slightly to listen. The grumble sounded again but from multiple directions, surrounding him. Quietly, he placed the meat and pelt down on the ground next to him. A pack of wolves then emerged from the bushes. Five grey wolves circled him, teeth bared in snarls and drool sliding over their lips. Connor frowned as he flicked his dark eyes from one pair of golden eyes to the next. The smell of blood and fresh meat must have attracted them to his position in the woods. He cursed his idiocy, next time he'd take his kill home before skinning it. The wolves began to circle more rapidly and began barking among their reoccurring growls. Connor spread his legs shoulder width apart and crouched slightly in a stance for combat. With a snarl the first one launched itself at his back. Connor whipped around and caught the wolf with both hands before forcing it to the floor and plunging his hidden blade into its head. 

The others were whipped into a frenzy at the death of the first and began running, still circling and nipping at the backs of his feet. Two made made a beeline for him and pounced, teeth aiming to clamp down on his arms. In a quick movement he took four quick steps and dodged the gnashing teeth of the wolves and turned, pouncing on them when they hit the floor, and pushed his blades into the skulls of the animals, who gave out cracked howls as their dying breaths. Another wolf launched itself at his back as he turned to face the beasts once more. Nimbly, Connor side stepped before pressing his foot onto its back and slamming the knife into the back of its neck. The last of the pack growled and stepped out of the brush, golden eyes gleaming as it padded forward, no sign of agitation on its face. Its muzzle was greying, and its fur beginning to matt against its skin. It padded towards one of the fallen wolves and sniffed it, gently nuzzling its face with its muzzle. When it gave no reaction the older wolf moved away with a small whimper and looked back at Connor. With a small nod of its head it gave out a howl into the air and then padded towards him, eyeing the blade warily. Connor kept himself tightly wound as the wolf came closer and sniffed at his hands, its nose wrinkled as it named him the killer of its pack, but still it made no move against him, it merely eyed him once more before turning tail and bounding into the bush. Connor watched the tail of the wolf disappear before he smiled slightly and set about taking the spoils of the fight whispering thanks as he cut into the animals.

It was later in the evening when Connor found himself back at the manor, although not inside it. He was still cooling off from the earlier embarrassment that had befallen him. Even thinking about the flushing face of the poor girl when she faced his bare chest was humiliation enough to make his cheeks burn. Light shone through the glass windows of the homestead, indicating that Achilles was still awake. Steeling himself, Connor made his way up the steps to the front door and gripped the door knob. He hesitated and frowned as he pushed forward and turned the knob, opening the door. The house was quiet. Connor took several steps before closing the door behind himself, and then lowered his hood, shaking his head to free the caught strands of hair. With the sack still slung over his shoulder he strode into the kitchen and peered around. Seeing no sign of Achilles, he began storing away the meat on hooks and hanging the pelts to dry and stiffen. Once finished he looked over his robes and sighed. Blood caked the white material and the majority of his arms. His tanned skin was stained crimson and blood had dried under his finger nails. A cough brought him to attention and Connor tensed whirling around to the entrance of the kitchen with a stony expression.

Achilles raised an eyebrow at him from the doorway and placed both hands on his cane for support.  
“What did you end up doing? Murdering a pack of wolves or something?” Connor sneered at the old man, still annoyed with his earlier mocking of him.  
“Yes. I did.” He then brushed past the old man heading towards the stairs. Achilles huffed and hobbled after him with a scowl.  
“Don't you dare go up those stairs like that! I don't need to be cleaning blood off the floors for the next week!” Connor paused on the fifth step and turned his head to scowl at Achilles.  
“You, clean? I think you'll find I will be cleaning, old man.” Achilles slammed his cane on the floor and pointed it at Connor, supporting himself with the banister of the staircase.  
“Irrespective my boy, I own this house, so you'll do as I say, and I'm here all day whereas you are not, now, take those clothes off and you wont need to clean the house!” Connor eyed Achilles with a look of suspicion and scowled with a look of equal annoyance.  
“I will not be commanded by you. You are not my father nor my mother!” Achilles growled at Connor's arrogant defiance and flipped his hand, greatly annoyed but unwilling to argue with him.  
“Fine then mister assassin, do as you want but don't complain when you have to clean the house from top to bottom!” Achilles then shuffled to his own room and doused the candles, his bed creaking as he clambered into it for the night. Connor growled.  
“I will not, old man!” A small snort came from down the hall and Connor gritted his teeth before purposely stomping up the stairs, mud and blood staining the steps as he went.

He slammed the door to his room, anger still boiling his blood as he threw his robes, boots and weapons aside to vent some frustration. Sighing, he slumped down onto his bed, his head between his hands. Gathering his thoughts he lifted his head and ran a hand over the blanket he had on the end of his bed. The blanket was made of coarse material, but was very good at keeping the cold off his feet in the winter. It was a reminder of his heritage. The women of the village had made it for him the last time he had visited. It still smelt of the place he had grown up in. The token helped to calm him as he scrubbed at the blood caking his body in the small bathroom, the water running pink as he rinsed and brushed the blood off of his dark skin. Taking a towel he began drying off his body and moved over to the window to peer up at the night sky. The moon was full and round, and the stars twinkled, winking down at him from their place, unreachable by all. The night was cool and still and Connor sighed, sitting on the window ledge, his back rested against the wall as he stretched his long, muscular legs out along the white painted wood. A cloud moved to cover the moon and Connor leant his head against the cool glass.  
“I should apologise to the old man...” He muttered to himself and moved his dark brown eyes to scan the tree line. Two gold gleaming eyes stared back at him. Connor leant forward and watched as the old wolf padded closer to the window and sat down in the grass, its thick tail curled around its legs. Neither looked away until the wolf threw back its head and howled into the sky. Connor watched with his mouth slightly agape as the wolf then turned tail and rushed back into the trees. With a small smile he peered up at the moon again and thought of his mother and the sacrifices he had made, the family he had lost, much like the wolf.  
“Nia:wen.” He whispered into the night sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Yep. Awkward beautiful little Connor baby. I recently completed Assassin's Creed 3, yeah I know, late much? But I fell in love with Connor and all his little mannerisms and quirks. Therefore, as my favourite assassin, I've written this about him. Don't worry. I have more stories yet to come! ;)


End file.
